Since I am not a sinologue, a foreword to the Book of Changes
from my hand must be a testimonial of my individual experience
with this great and singular book. It also affords me a welcome
opportunity to pay tribute again to the memory of my late friend,
Richard Wilhelm. He himself was profoundly aware of the cultural
significance of his translation of the I Ching, a version
unrivaled in the West.

If the meaning of the Book of Changes were easy to grasp, the
work would need no foreword. But this is far from being the case,
for there is so much that is obscure about it that Western scholars
have tended to dispose of it as a collection of "magic spells,"
either too abstruse to be intelligible, or of no value whatsoever. Legge's translation of the I Ching, up to now the only
version available in English, has done little to make the work
accessible to Western minds.[1]Wilhelm, however, has made every
effort to open the way to an understanding of the symbolism of
the text. He was in a position to do this because he himself
was taught the philosophy and the use of the I Ching by
the venerable sage Lao Nai-hsüan; moreover, he had over a
period of many years put the peculiar technique of the oracle
into practice. His grasp of the living meaning of the text gives
his version of the I Ching a depth of perspective that
an exclusively academic knowledge of Chinese philosophy could
never provide.

I am greatly indebted to Wilhelm for the light he has thrown upon
the complicated problem of the I Ching, and for insight
as regards its practical application as well. For more than thirty
years I have interested myself in this oracle technique, or method
of exploring the unconscious, for it has seemed to me of uncommon
significance. I was already fairly familiar with the I Ching
when I first met Wilhelm in the early nineteen twenties; he confirmed
for me then what I already knew, and taught me many things more.

I do not know Chinese and have never been in China. I can assure
my reader that it is not altogether easy to find the right access
to this monument of Chinese thought, which departs so completely
from our ways of thinking. In order to understand what such a
book is all about, it is imperative to cast off certain prejudices
of the Western mind. it is a curious fact that such a gifted
and intelligent people as the Chinese has never developed what
we call science. Our science, however, is based upon the principle
of causality, and causality is considered to be an axiomatic truth.
But a great change in our standpoint is setting in. What Kant's
Critique of Pure Reason failed to do, is being accomplished
by modern physics. The axioms of causality are being shaken to
their foundations: we know now that what we term natural laws
are merely statistical truths and thus must necessarily allow
for exceptions. We have not sufficiently taken into account as
yet that we need the laboratory with its incisive restrictions
in order to demonstrate the invariable validity of natural law.
If we leave things to nature, we see a very different picture:
every process is partially or totally interfered with by chance,
so much so that under natural circumstances a course of events
absolutely conforming to specific laws is almost an exception.

The Chinese mind, as I see it at work in the I Ching, seems
to be exclusively preoccupied with the chance aspect of events.
What we call coincidence seems to be the chief concern of this
peculiar mind, and what we worship as causality passes almost
unnoticed. We must admit that there is something to be said for
the immense importance of chance. An incalculable amount of human
effort is directed to combating and restricting the nuisance or
danger represented by chance. Theoretical considerations of cause
and effect often look pale and dusty in comparison to the practical
results of chance. It is all very well to say that the crystal
of quartz is a hexagonal prism. The statement is quite true in
so far as an ideal crystal is envisaged. But in nature one finds
no two crystals exactly alike, although all are unmistakably hexagonal.
The actual form, however, seems to appeal more to the Chinese
sage than the ideal one. The jumble of natural laws constituting
empirical reality holds more significance for him than a causal
explanation of events that, moreover, must usually be separated
from one another in order to be properly dealt with.

The manner in which the I Ching tends to look upon reality
seems to disfavor our causalistic procedures. The moment under
actual observation appears to the ancient Chinese view more of
a chance hit than a clearly defined result of concurring causal
chain processes. The matter of interest seems to be the configuration
formed by chance events in the moment of observation, and not
at all the hypothetical reasons that seemingly account for the
coincidence. While the Western mind carefully sifts, weighs, selects,
classifies, isolates, the Chinese picture of the moment encompasses
everything down to the minutest nonsensical detail, because all
of the ingredients make up the observed moment.

Thus it happens that when one throws the three coins, or counts
through the forty-nine yarrow stalks, these chance details enter
into the picture of the moment of observation and form a part
of it -- a part that is insiguificant to us, yet most meaningful
to the Chinese mind. With us it would be a banal and almost meaningless
statement (at least on the face of it) to say that whatever happens
in a given moment possesses inevitably the quality peculiar to
that moment. This is not an abstract argument but a very practical
one. There are certain connoisseurs who can tell you merely from
the appearance, taste, and behavior of a wine the site of its
vineyard and the year of its origin. There are antiquarians who
with almost uncanny accuracy will name the time and place of origin
and the maker of an objet d'art or piece of furniture on
merely looking at it. And there are even astrologers who can
tell you, without any previous knowledge of your nativity, what
the position of sun and moon was and what zodiacal sign rose above
the horizon in the moment of your birth. In the face of such
facts, it must be admitted that moments can leave long-lasting
traces.

In other words, whoever invented the I Ching was convinced
that the hexagram worked out in a certain moment coincided with
the latter in quality no less than in time. To him the hexagram
was the exponent of the moment in which it was cast -- even more
so than the hours of the clock or the divisions of the calendar
could be -- inasmuch as the hexagram was understood to be an indicator
of the essential situation prevailing in the moment of its origin.

This assumption involves a certain curious principle that I have
termed synchronicity,[2] a concept that formulates a point
of view diametrically opposed to that of causality. Since the
latter is a merely statistical truth and not absolute, it is a
sort of working hypothesis of how events evolve one out of another,
whereas synchronicity takes the coincidence of events in space
and time as meaning something more than mere chance, namely, a
peculiar interdependence of objective events among themselves
as well as with the subjective (psychic) states of the observer
or observers.

The ancient Chinese mind contemplates the cosmos in a way comparable
to that of the modern physicist, who cannot deny that his model
of the world is a decidedly psychophysical structure. The microphysical
event includes the observer just as much as the reality underlying
the I Ching comprises subjective, i.e., psychic conditions
in the totality of the momentary situation. Just as causality
describes the sequence of events, so synchronicity to the Chinese
mind deals with the coincidence of events. The causal point of
view tells us a dramatic story about how D came into existence:
it took its origin from C, which existed before D,
and C in its turn had a father, B, etc. The synchronistic
view on the other hand tries to produce an equally meaningful
picture of coincidence. How does it happen that A', B', C',
D', etc., appear all in the same moment and in the same place?
It happens in the first place because the physical events A'
and B' are of the same quality as the psychic events C'
and D', and further because all are the exponents of one
and the same momentary situation. The situation is assumed to
represent a legible or understandable picture.

Now the sixty-four hexagrams of the I Ching are the instrument
by which the meaning of sixty-four different yet typical situations
can be determined. These interpretations are equivalent to causal
explanations. Causal connection is statistically necessary and
can therefore be subjected to experiment. Inasmuch as situations
are unique and cannot be repeated, experimenting with synchronicity
seems to be impossible under ordinary conditions.[3] In the I
Ching, the only criterion of the validity of synchronicity
is the observer's opinion that the text of the hexagram amounts
to a true rendering of his psychic condition. It is assumed that
the fall of the coins or the result of the division of the bundle
of yarrow stalks is what it necessarily must be in a given "situation,"
inasmuch as anything happening in that moment belongs to it as
an indispensable part of the picture. If a handful of matches
is thrown to the floor, they form the pattern characteristic of
that moment. But such an obvious truth as this reveals its meaningful
nature only if it is possible to read the pattern and to verify
its interpretation, partly by the observer's knowledge of the
subjective and objective situation, partly by the character of
subsequent events. It is obviously not a procedure that appeals
to a critical mind used to experimental verification of facts
or to factual evidence. But for someone who likes to look at
the world at the angle from which ancient China saw it, the I
Ching may have some attraction.

My argument as outlined above has of course never entered a Chinese
mind. On the contrary, according to the old tradition, it is "spiritual
agencies," acting in a mysterious way, that make the yarrow
stalks give a meaningful answer.[4] These powers form, as it
were, the living soul of the book. As the latter is thus a sort
of animated being, the tradition assumes that one can put questions
to the I Ching and expect to receive intelligent answers.
Thus it occurred to me that it might interest the uninitiated
reader to see the I Ching at work. For this purpose I
made an experiment strictly in accordance with the Chinese conception:
I personified the book in a sense, asking its judgment about its
present situation, i.e., my intention to present it to the Western
mind.

Although this procedure is well within the premises of Taoist
philosophy, it appears exceedingly odd to us. However, not even
the strangeness of insane delusions or of primitive superstition
has ever shocked me. I have always tried to remain unbiased and
curious -- rerum novarum cupidus. Why not venture a dialogue
with an ancient book that purports to be animated? There can
be no harm in it, and the reader may watch a psychological procedure
that has been carried out time and again throughout the millennia
of Chinese civilization, representing to a Confucius or a Lao-tse
both a supreme expression of spiritual authority and a philosophical
enigma. I made use of the coin method, and the answer obtained
was hexagram 50, Ting, THE CALDRON.

In accordance with the way my question was phrased, the text of
the hexagram must be regarded as though the I Ching itself
were the speaking person. Thus it describes itself as a caldron,
that is, as a ritual vessel containing cooked food. Here the
food is to be understood as spiritual nourishment. Wilhelm says
about this:

The ting, as a utensil pertaining to a refined civilization, suggests
the fostering and nourishing of able men, which redounded to the
benefit of the state. . . . Here we see civilization as it reaches
its culmination in religion. The ting serves in offering
sacrifice to God. . . . The supreme revelation of God appears
in prophets and holy men. To venerate them is true veneration
of God. The will of God, as revealed through them, should be
accepted in humility.

Keeping to our hypothesis, we must conclude that the I Ching
is here testifying concerning itself.

When any of the lines of a given hexagram have the value of six
or nine, it means that they are specially emphasized and hence
important in the interpretation.[5] In my hexagram the "spiritual
agencies" have given the emphasis of a nine to the lines
in the second and in the third place. The text says:

Nine in the second place means:
There is food in the ting.
My comrades are envious,
But they cannot harm me.
Good fortune.

Thus the I Ching says of itself: "I contain (spiritual)
nourishment." Since a share in something great always arouses
envy, the chorus of the envious[6] is part of the picture. The
envious want to rob the I Ching of its great possession,
that is, they seek to rob it of meaning, or to destroy its meaning.
But their enmity is in vain. Its richness of meaning is assured;
that is, it is convinced of its positive achievements, which no
one can take away. The text continues:

Nine in the third place means:
The handle of the ting is altered.
One is impeded in his way of life.
The fat of the pheasant is not eaten.
Once rain falls, remorse is spent.
Good fortune comes in the end.

The handle [German Griff] is the part by which the ting
can be grasped [gegriffen]. Thus it signifies the
concept[7] (Begriff) one has of the I Ching (the
ting). In the course of time this concept has apparently
changed, so that today we can no longer grasp (begreifen)
the I Ching. Thus "one is impeded in his way of life."
We are no longer supported by the wise counsel and deep insight
of the oracle; therefore we no longer find our way through the
mazes of fate and the obscurities of our own natures. The fat of
the pheasant, that is, the best and richest part of a good dish,
is no longer eaten. But when the thirsty earth finally receives
rain again, that is, when this state of want has been overcome,
"remorse," that is, sorrow over the loss of wisdom, is
ended, and then comes the longed-for opportunity. Wilhelm
comments: "This describes a man who, in a highly evolved civilization,
finds himself in a place where no one notices or recognizes
him. This is a severe block to his effectiveness." The I Ching
is complaining, as it were, that its excellent qualities
go unrecognized and hence lie fallow. It comforts itself with
the hope that it is about to regain recognition.

The answer given in these two salient lines to the question I
put to the I Ching requires no particular subtlety of interpretation,
no artifices, no unusual knowledge. Anyone with a little common
sense can understand the meaning of the answer; it is the answer
of one who has a good opinion of himself, but whose value is neither
generally recognized nor even widely known. The answering subject
has an interesting notion of itself: it looks upon itself as a
vessel in which sacrificial offerings are brought to the gods,
ritual food for their nourishment. It conceives of itself as
a cult utensil serving to provide spiritual nourishment for the
unconscious elements or forces ("spiritual agencies")
that have been projected as gods -- in other words, to give these
forces the attention they need in order to play their part in
the life of the individual. Indeed, this is the original meaning
of the word religio - a careful observation and taking
account of (from relegere[8]) the numinous.

The method of the I Ching does indeed take into account
the hidden individual quality in things and men, and in one's
own unconscious self as well. I have questioned the I Ching
as one questions a person whom one is about to introduce to friends:
one asks whether or not it will be agreeable to him. In answer
the I Ching tells me of its religious significance, of
the fact that at present it is unknown and misjudged, of its hope
of being restored to a place of honor -- this last obviously with
a sidelong glance at my as yet unwritten foreword,[9] and above
all at the English translation. This seems a perfectly understandable
reaction, such as one could expect also from a person in a similar
situation.

But how has this reaction come about? Because I threw three small
coins into the air and let them fall, roll, and come to rest,
heads up or tails up as the case might be. This odd fact that
a reaction that makes sense arises out of a technique seemingly
excluding all sense from the outset, is the great achievement
of the I Ching. The instance I have just given is not
unique; meaningful answers are the rule. Western sinologues and
distinguished Chinese scholars have been at pains to inform me
that the I Ching is a collection of obsolete "magic
spells." In the course of these conversations my informant
has sometimes admitted having consulted the oracle through a fortune
teller, usually a Taoist priest. This could be "only nonsense"
of course. But oddly enough, the answer received apparently coincided
with the questioner's psychological blind spot remarkably well.

I agree with Western thinking that any number of answers to my
question were possible, and I certainly cannot assert that another
answer would not have been equally significant. However, the
answer received was the first and only one; we know nothing of
other possible answers. It pleased and satisfied me. To ask
the same question a second time would have been tactless and so
I did not do it: "the master speaks but once." The
heavy-handed pedagogic approach that attempts to fit irrational
phenomena into a preconceived rational pattern is anathema to
me. Indeed, such things as this answer should remain as they
were when they first emerged to view, for only then do we know
what nature does when left to herself undisturbed by the meddlesomeness
of man. One ought not to go to cadavers to study life. Moreover,
a repetition of the experiment is impossible, for the simple reason
that the original situation cannot be reconstructed. Therefore
in each instance there is only a first and single answer.

To return to the hexagram itself. There is nothing strange in
the fact that all of Ting, THE CALDRON, amplifies the themes announced
by the two salient lines.[10] The first line of the hexagram
says:

A ting with legs upturned.
Furthers removal of stagnating stuff.
One takes a concubine for the sake of her son.
No blame.

A ting that is turned upside down is not in use. Hence
the I Ching is like an unused caldron. Turning it over
serves to remove stagnating matter, as the line says. Just as
a man takes a concubine when his wife has no son, so the I
Ching is called upon when one sees no other way out. Despite
the quasi-legal status of the concubine in China, she is in reality
only a somewhat awkward makeshift so likewise the magic procedure
of the oracle is an expedient that may be utilized for a higher
purpose. There is no blame, although it is an exceptional recourse.

The second and third lines have already been discussed. The fourth
line says:

The legs of the ting are broken.
The prince's meal is spilled
And his person is soiled.
Misfortune.

Here the ting has been put to use, but evidently in a very
clumsy manner, that is, the oracle has been abused or misinterpreted. In
this way the divine food is lost, and one puts oneself to
shame. Legge translates as follows: "Its subject will be
made to blush for shame." Abuse of a cult utensil such as
the ting (i.e., the I Ching) is a gross profanation. The
I Ching is evidently insisting here on its dignity
as a ritual vessel and protesting against being profanely used.

The I Ching has, it seems, met with a new, correct (yellow)
understanding, that is, a new concept (Begriff)by
which it can be grasped. This concept is valuable (golden).
There is indeed a new edition in English, making the book more
accessible to the Western world than before.

The sixth line says:

The ting has rings of jade.
Great good fortune.
Nothing that would not act to further.

Jade is distinguished for its beauty and soft sheen. If the carrying
rings are of jade, the whole vessel is enhanced in beauty, honor,
and value. The I Ching expresses itself here as being
not only well satisfied but indeed very optimistic. One can only
await further events and in the meantime remain content with the
pleasant conclusion that the I Ching approves of the new
edition.

I have shown in this example as objectively as I can how the oracle
proceeds in a given case. Of course the procedure varies somewhat
according to the way the question is put. If for instance a person
finds himself in a confusing situation, he may himself appear
in the oracle as the speaker. Or, if the question concerns a
relationship with another person, that person may appear as the
speaker. However, the identity of the speaker does not depend
entirely on the manner in which the question is phrased, inasmuch
as our relations with our fellow beings are not always determined
by the latter. Very often our relations depend almost exclusively
on our own attitudes, though we maybe quite unaware of this fact.
Hence, if an individual is unconscious of his role in a relationship,
there may be a surprise in store for him; contrary to expectation,
he himself may appear as the chief agent, as is sometimes unmistakably
indicated by the text. It may also occur that we take a situation
too seriously and consider it extremely important, whereas the
answer we get on consulting the I Ching draws attention
to some unsuspected other aspect impllcit in the question.

Such instances might at first lead one to think that the oracle
is fallacious. Confucius is said to have received only one inappropriate
answer, i.e., hexagram 22, GRACE -- a thoroughly aesthetic hexagram.
This is reminiscent of the advice given to Socrates by his daemon
-- "You ought to make more music" -- whereupon Socrates
took to playing the flute. Confucius and Socrates compete for
first place as far as reasonableness and a pedagogic attitude
to life are concerned; but it is unlikely that either of them
occupied himself with "lending grace to the beard on his
chin," as the second line of this hexagram advises. Unfortunately,
reason and pedagogy often lack charm and grace, and so the oracle
may not have been wrong after all.

To come back once more to our hexagram. Though the I Ching
not only seems to be satisfied with its new edition, but even
expresses emphatic optimism, this still does not foretell anything
about the effect it will have on the public it is intended to
reach. Since we have in our hexagram two yang lines stressed
by the numerical value nine, we are in a position to find out
what sort of prognosis the I Ching makes for itself. Lines
designated by a six or a nine have, according to the ancient conception,
an inner tension so great as to cause them to change into their
opposites, that is, yang into yin, and vice versa. Through this
change we obtain in the present instance hexagram 55, Chin, PROGRESS.

The subject of this hexagram is someone who meets with all sorts
of vicissitudes of fortune in his climb upward, and the text describes
how he should hehave. The I Ching is in this same situation:
it rises like the sun and declares itself, but it is rebuffed
and finds no confidence -- it is "progressing, but in sorrow."
However, "one obtains great happiness from one's ancestress."
Psychology can help us to elucidate this obscure passage. In
dreams and fairy tales the grandmother, or ancestress, often represents
the unconscious, because the latter in a man contains the feminine
component of the psyche. If the I Ching is not accepted
by the conscious, at least the unconscious meets it halfway, and
the I Ching is more closely connected with the unconscious
than with the rational attitude of consciousness. Since the unconscious
is often represented in dreams by a feminine figure, this may
be the explanation here. The feminine person might be the translator,
who has given the book her maternal care, and this might easily
appear to the I Ching as a "great happiness."
It anticipates general understantling, but is afraid of misuse
-- "Progress like a hamster." But it is mindful of
the admonition, "Take not gain and loss to heart."
It remains free of "partisan motives." It does not
thrust itself on anyone.

The I Ching therefore faces its future on the American
book market calmly and expresses itself here just about as any
reasonable person would in regard to the fate of so controversial
a work. This prediction is so very reasonable and full of common
sense that it would be hard to think of a more fitting answer.

All of this happened before I had written the foregoing paragraphs.
When I reached this point, I wished to know the attitude of the
I Ching to the new situation. The state of things had
been altered by what I had written, inasmuch as I myself had now
entered upon the scene, and I therefore expected to hear something
referring to my own action. I must confess that I had not been
feeling too happy in the course of writing this foreword, for,
as a person with a sense of responsibility toward science, I am
not in the habit of asserting something I cannot prove or at least
present as acceptable to reason. It is a dubious task indeed to
try to introduce to a critical modern public a collection of archaic
"magic spells," with the idea of making them more or
less acceptable. I have undertaken it because I myself think
that there is more to the ancient Chinese way of thinking than
meets the eye. But it is embarrassing to me that I must appeal
to the good will and imagination of the reader, inasmuch as I
have to take him into the obscurity of an age-old magic ritual.
Unfortunately I am only too well aware of the arguments that
can be brought against it. We are not even certain that the ship
that is to carry us over the unknown seas has not sprung a leak
somewhere. May not the old text be corrupt? Is Wilhelm's translation
accurate? Are we not self-deluded in our explanations?

The I Ching insists upon self-knowledge throughout. The
method by which this is to be achieved is open to every kind of
misuse, and is therefore not for the frivolous-minded and immature;
nor is it for intellectualists and rationalists. It is appropriate
only for thoughtful and reflective people who like to think about
what they do and what happens to them -- a predilection not to
be confused with the morbid brooding of the hypochondriac. As
I have indicated above, I have no answer to the multitude of problems
that arise when we seek to harmonize the oracle of the I Ching
with our accepted scientific canons. But needless to say, nothing
"occult" is to be inferred. My position in these matters
is pragmatic, and the great disciplines that have taught me the
practical usefulness of this viewpoint are psychotherapy and medical
psychology. Probably in no other field do we have to reckon with
so many unknown quantities, and nowhere else do we become more
accustomed to adopting methods that work even though for a long
time we may not know why they work. Unexpected cures may arise
from questionable therapies and unexpected failures from allegedly
reliable methods. In the exploration of the unconscious we come
upon very strange things, from which a rationalist turns away
with horror, claiming afterward that he did not see anything.
The irrational fullness of life has taught me never to discard
anything, even when it goes against all our theories (so short-lived
at best) or otherwise admits of no immediate explanation. It
is of course disquieting, and one is not certain whether the compass
is pointing true or not; but security, certitude, and peace do
not lead to discoveries. It is the same with this Chinese mode
of divination. Clearly the method aims at self-knowledge, though
at all times it has also been put to superstitious use.

I of course am thoroughly convinced of the value of self-knowledge,
but is there any use in recommending such insight, when the wisest
of men throughout the ages have preached the need of it without
success? Even to the most biased eye it is obvious that this book
represents one long admonition to careful scrutiny of one's own
character, attitude, and motives. This attitude appeals to me
and has induced me to undertake the foreword. Only once before
have I expressed myself in regard to the problem of the I Ching:
this was in a memorial address in tribute to Richard Willielm.[11]
For the rest I have maintained a discreet silence. It is by no
means easy

to feel one's way into such a remote and mysterious mentality
as that underlying the I Ching. One cannot easily disregard
such great minds as Confucius and Lao-tse, if one is at all able
to appreciate the quality of the thoughts they represent; much
less can one overlook the fact that the I Ching was their
main source of inspiration. I know that previously I would not
have dared to express myself so explicitly about so uncertain
a matter. I can take this risk because I am now in my eighth
decade, and the changing opinions of men scarcely impress me any
more; the thoughts of the old masters are of greater value to
me than the philosophical prejudices of the Western mind.

I do not like to burden my reader with these personal considerations;
but, as already indicated, one's own personality is very often
implicated in the answer of the oracle. Indeed, in formulating
my question I even invited the oracle to comment directly on my
action. The answer was hexagram 29, K'an, THE ABYSMAL. Special
emphasis is given to the third place by the fact that the line
is designated by a six. This line says:

Forward and backward, abyss on abyss.
In danger like this, pause at first and wait,
Otherwise you will fall into a pit in the abyss.
Do not act in this way.

Formerly I would have accepted unconditionally the advice, "Do
not act in this way," and would have refused to give my opinion
of the I Ching, for the sole reason that I had none. But
now the counsel may serve as an example of the way in which the
I Ching functions. It is a fact that if one begins to
think about it, the problems of the I Ching do represent
"abyss on abyss," and unavoidably one must "pause
at first and wait" in the midst of the dangers of limitless
and uncritical speculation; otherwise one really will lose his
way in the darkness. Could there be a more uncomfortable position
intellectually than that of floating in the thin air of unproved
possibilities, not knowing whether what one sees is truth or illusion?
This is the dreamlike atmosphere of the I Ching, and in
it one has nothing to rely upon except one's own so fallible subjective
judgment. I cannot but admit that this line represents very appropriately
the feelings with which I wrote the foregoing passages. Equally
fitting is the comforting beginning of this hexagram -- "If
you are sincere, you have success in your heart" -- for it
indicates that the decisive thing here is not the outer danger
but the subjective condition, that is, whether one believes oneself
to be "sincere" or not.

The hexagram compares the dynamic action in this situation to
the behavior of flowing water, which is not afraid of any dangerous
place but plunges over cliffs and fills up the pits that lie in
its course (K'an also stands for water). This is the way in which
the "superior man" acts and "carries on the business
of teaching."

K'an is definitely one of the less agreeable hexagrams. It describes
a situation in which the subject seems in grave danger of being
caught in all sorts of pitfalls. Just as in interpreting a dream
one must follow the dream text with utmost exactitude, so in consulting
the oracle one must hold in mind the form of the question put,
for this sets a definite limit to the interpretation of the answer.
The first line of the hexagram notes the presence of the danger:
"In the abyss one falls into a pit." The second line
does the same, then adds the counsel: "One should strive
to attain small things only." I apparently anticipated this
advice by limiting myself in this foreword to a demonstration
of how the I Ching functions in the Chinese mind, and by
renouncing the more ambitious project of writing a psychological
commentary on the whole book.

The fourth line says:

A jug of wine, a bowl of rice with it;
Earthen vessels
Simply handed in through the window.
There is certainly no blame in this.

Wilhelm makes the following comment here:

Although as a rule it is customary for an official to present
certain introductory gifts and recommendations before he is appointed,
here everything is simplified to the utmost. The gifts are insignificant,
there is no one to sponsor him, he introduces himself; yet all
this need not be humiliating if only there is the honest intention
of mutual help in danger.

Wilhelm makes the following comment here:

Although as a rule it is customary for an official to present
certain introductory gifts and recommendations before he is appointed,
here everything is simplified to the utmost. The gifts are insignificant,
there is no one to sponsor him, he introduces himself; yet all
this need not be humiliating if only there is the honest intention
of mutual help in danger.

It looks as if the book were to some degree the subject of this
line.

The fifth line continues the theme of limitation. If one studies
the nature of water, one sees that it fills a pit only to the
rim and then flows on. It does not stay caught there:

The abyss is not filled to overflowing,
It is filled only to the rim.

But if, tempted by the danger, and just because of the uncertainty,
one were to insist on forcing conviction by special efforts, such
as elaborate commentaries and the like, one would only be mired
in the difficulty, which the top line describes very accurately
as a tied-up and caged-in condition. Indeed, the last line often
shows the consequences that result when one does not take the
meaning of the hexagram to heart.

In our hexagram we have a six in the third place. This yin line
of mounting tension changes into a yang line and thus produces
a new hexagram showing a new possibility or tendency. We now
have hexagram 48, Ching, THE WELL. The water hole no longer means
danger, however, but rather something beneficial, a well:

Thus the superior man encourages the people at
their work,
And exhorts them to help one another.

The image of people helping one another would seem to refer to
the reconstruction of the well, for it is broken down and full
of mud. Not even animals drink from it. There are fishes living
in it, and one can shoot these, but the well is not used for drinking,
that is, for human needs. This description is reminiscent of
the overturned and unused ting that is to receive a new
handle. Moreover, this well, like the ting, is cleaned.
But no one drinks from it:

This is my heart's sorrow,
For one might draw from it.

The dangerous water hole or abyss pointed to the I Ching,
and so does the well, but the latter has a positive meaning: it
contains the waters of life. It should he restored to use. But
one has no concept (Begriff) of it, no utensil with which
to carry the water; the jug is broken and leaks. The ting
needs new handles and carrying rings by which to grasp it, and
so also the well must be newly lined, for it contains "a
clear, cold spring from which one can drink." One may draw
water from it, because "it is dependable."

It is clear that in this prognosis the speaking subject is again
the I Ching, representing itself as a spring of living
water. The preceding hexagram described in detail the danger
confronting the person who accidentally falls into the pit within
the abyss. He must work his way out of it, in order to discover
that it is an old, ruined well, buried in mud, but capable of
being restored to use again.

I submitted two questions to the method of chance represented
by the coin oracle, the second question being put after I had
written my analysis of the answer to the first. The first question
was directed, as it were, to the I Ching: what had it
to say about my intention to write a foreword? The second question
concerned my own action, or rather the situation in which I was
the acting subject who had discussed the first hexagram. To the
first question the I Ching replied by comparing itself
to a caldron, a ritual vessel in need of renovation, a vessel
that was finding only doubtful favor with the public. To the
second question the reply was that I had fallen into a difficulty,
for the I Ching represented a deep and dangerous water
hole in which one might easily be mired. However, the water hole
proved to be an old well that needed only to be renovated in order
to be put to useful purposes once more.

These four hexagrams are in the main consistent as regards theme
(vessel, pit, well); and as regards intellectual content they
seem to be meaningful. Had a human being made such replies, I
should, as a psychiatrist, have had to pronounce him of sound
mind, at least on the basis of the material presented. Indeed,
I should not have been able to discover anything delirious, idiotic,
or schizophrenic in the four answers. In view of the I Ching's
extreme age and its Chinese origin, I cannot consider its archaic,
symbolic, and flowery language abnormal. On the contrary, I should
have had to congratulate this hypothetical person on the extent
of his insight into my unexpressed state of doubt. On the other
hand, any person of clever and versatile mind can turn the whole
thing around and show how I have projected my subjective contents
into the symbolism of the hexagrams. Such a critique, though
catastrophic from the standpoint of Western rationality, does
no harm to the function of the I Ching. On the contrary,
the Chinese sage would smilingly tell me: "Don't you see
how useful the I Ching is in making you project your hitherto
unrealized thoughts into its abstruse symbolism? You could have
written your foreword without ever realizing what an avalanche
of misunderstanding might be released by it."

The Chinese standpoint does not concern itself as to the attitude
one takes toward the performance of the oracle. It is only we
who are puzzled, because we trip time and again over our prejudice,
viz., the notion of causality. The ancient wisdom of the East
lays stress upon the fact that the intelligent individual realizes
his own thoughts, but not in the least upon the way in which he
does it. The less one thinks about the theory of the I Ching,
the more soundly one sleeps.

It would seem to me that on the basis of this example an unprejudiced
reader would now be in a position to form at least a tentative
judgment on the operation of the I Ching.[12] More cannot
be expected from a simple introduction. If by means of this demonstration
I have succeeded in elucidating the psychological phenomenology
of the I Ching, I shall have carried out my purpose. As
to the thousands of questions, doubts, and criticisms that this
singular book stirs up -- I cannot answer these. The I Ching
does not offer itself with proofs and results; it does not vaunt
itself, nor is it easy to approach. Like a part of nature, it
waits until it is discovered. It offers neither facts nor power,
but for lovers of self-knowledge, of wisdom -- if there be such
-- it seems to be the right book. To one person its spirit appears
as clear as day; to another, shadowy as twilight; to a third,
dark as night. He who is not pleased by it does not have to use
it, and he who is against it is not obliged to find it true.
Let it go forth into the world for the benefit of those who can
discern its meaning.

C. G. JUNG

Zurich, 1949

[1] Legge makes the following comment on the explanatory text
for the individual lines: "According to our notions, a framer
of emblems should be a good deal of a poet, but those of Yi
only make us think of a dryasdust. Out of more than three hundred
and fifty, the greater numbers are only grotesque" (The
Sacred Books of the East, XVl: The Yi King, 2nd edn.,
Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1899, p.22). Of the "lessons"'
of the hexagrams, the same author says: "But why, it may
be asked, why should they be conveyed to us by such an array of
lineal figures, and in such a farrago of emblematic representations"'
(ibid., p. 25). However, we are nowhere told that Legge ever
bothered to put the method to a practical test.
[2] Cf. "Synchronicity: An Acausal Connecting Principle,"
The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche (Coll. Works
of C. G. Jung, vol. 8).
[3] Cf. J. B. Rhine, The Reach of the Mind (New York and
London, 1928).
[4] They are shên, that is "spirit-like."
"Heaven produced the 'spirit-like things' " (Legge,
p.41).
[5] See the explanation of the method in Wilhelm's text, p.721.
[6] For example, the invidi ("the envious") are
a constantly recurring image in the old Latin books on alchemy,
especially in the Turba philosophorum (eleventh or twelfth
century).
[7] From the Latin concipere, "ito take together,"
e.g., in a vessel: concipere derives from capere,"to take," "to grasp."
[8] This is the classical etymology. The derivation of rehgio
from religare, "bind to," originated with the
Church Fathers.
[9] I made this experiment before I actually wrote the foreword.
[10] The Chinese interpret only the changing lines in the hexagram
obtained by use of the oracle. I have found all the lines of
the hexagram to be relevant in most cases.
[11] Cf. R. Wilhelm and C. G. Jung, The Secret of the Golden
Flower, tr. Gary F. Baynes (London and New York, 1931; new
edn., revised, 1962), in which this address appears as an appendix. The
book did not appear in English until a year after Wilhelm's
death. The address is also in The Spirit in Man, Art, and
Literature (Coll. Works of C. G. Jung, vol.15).
[12] The reader will find it helpful to look up all four of these
hexagrams in the text and to read them together with the relevant
commentaries.